The next morning was a rush of excitement, Martha and Eleanor still planning the wedding. Vigil was attempting to hide from the chaos, avoiding the bride at all costs. After all, her little friend had returned his unwelcome presence, and was again chanting drums through her skull.

Holding a hand to her head, she stumbled up the mahogany staircase and leaned against the wall. She felt somebody sit down next to her, and she squirmed uncomfortably, tucking her head between her knees.

"I hear it has gotten worse since I left London." A familiar voice said.

She lifted her head up, a headache coming on. "Hey Clara."

Clarence cringed. "You know I hate that nickname. Hated it since you were old enough to speak."

"I think it's cute," Vigil said, smiling a little.

"It sounds like a bloody girl's name, and you know it." Her brother tugged at one of her dark locks.

Vigil laid her head back on her knees. "It has gotten worse. More terrible than I ever thought a mere voice could get."

Clarence rested his arms on his thighs and stared at her. "I hope you're finding distractions."

Vigil nodded. "I write, I paint, listen to music..."

She trailed off when she noticed him staring at her, raising his eyebrows.

"Making friends?" He said flatly, clasping his hands together.

Vigil shifted in her seat. "Margaret has always been my best friend."

"Making friends in the gardens?" He said, still staring at her.

She swallowed. "What is your point, Clarence?"

Clarance stood up from the steps, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not going to tell mum and dad, but you'd better be careful who you run around with."

And with that, her brother spun around and jogged down the stairs, leaving a surprised Vigil. Before descending the last step, he turned back to her.

"And give Martha a chance, sissy. She's not the most sophisticated woman in England, but at least she has a backbone." He was holding a stern finger toward her, but his eyes and lips were tugging at a smile.

Vigil shrugged and picked at a spot on her skirt, biting her grin down. She called out to him as he walked away down the hall. "I send my blessings for your marrige, Clara."

"I don't need my kid sister's blessing," He yelled, his back to her. "And stop using that name, Viggily Jiggily."

"Oh, come on, Clara!" Vigil shouted, standing up. "You haven't used that since I was five!"

"Yeah, well, my eleven-year-old self had some bloody good nicknames up his sleeve!"

Eleanor's roar came from the sitting room. "That is enough language, Clarence!"

Vigil spun on her heel to go upstairs, but she suddenly remembered the pain in her head, and stumbled down to the front door instead. She needed fresh, cool air, some time in the sun. Trudging over the wide, lush lawn, she rubbed fingers over her face.

Finally too weary to move another step, she collapsed against the cobblestone ruins of the previous gardening shed. Warming her closed eyes against the sun, she leaned her head against the hot stones.

Something caught her ear, a whistling. It was deep and warm, something Vigil never thought whistling could be. Looking around for the source of the noise, she sat up. Of course, it was the gardener, pushing a wheel barrow of logs. His face was brighter than usual, almost glowing.

James was looking at the ground, but noticed her after a few seconds. His lips broke into a grin, only to fade when he saw her pained grimace. Setting down the cart, he pushed sandy locks from his face and trotted toward her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He said. "Did something happen?"

She shook her head. "It's just... you know."

He nodded, and Vigil felt bad for worrying him about it.

"I just need distractions," She said quickly. "That usually helps."

He sighed. "Please, Vigil. If you ever need a distraction or something to focus on, just tell me. I'm always here."

Vigil managed a smile, then winced and pressed her palm to her head. "I think I need some sleep."

James nodded earnestly. "Do you need me to walk you back to the house?"

"No, I'm okay," She moved to turn around, but stopped. "James, why are you so kind to me?"

He stared at her confusedly, like she had just asked why he drank water. He shook his head thoughtfully. "Because... I sensed you were broken. You laughed, you joked, and flirted, but I could see pain in your eyes. Somehow, I knew you needed a friend, that you wanted to see the world."

Vigil blinked, then laughed a little. "I guess I'm not as good at acting as I thought I was."

"Tonight," He said. "Meet me here at ten. And bring your Sunday best."